


own me just for the night

by willsdrake



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Hotel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 08:49:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17701244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willsdrake/pseuds/willsdrake
Summary: in which will’s decision to play the piano in the lobby of the cortez leads to a transpiring of events that he could have never imagined.





	own me just for the night

The soft tones of a piano shattered the silence that usually held the Cortez captive, creating an almost soothing atmosphere that was a sharp contrast from the dark, dangerous feel the hotel usually retained. It was a Saturday evening, which meant that most of the building’s residents were either out engaging in the city’s nightlife or hiding in the shadows searching for their next victim; it was precisely for this reason that Tristan was lured by sheer curiosity out of the room he had stayed in nearly all day, previously venturing out only to visit the bar and indulge in a few too many alcoholic beverages before stumbling back to the makeshift prison he had created for himself. With tired eyes and a sigh of slight frustration he began making his way down the seemingly endless hallway, following the call of the instrument as it continued to waft through the air in sure, steady resonances. Though he was certain anyone in their right mind would find the noise joyful or even peaceful, to Tristan it was anything but, and he was prepared to slit the throat of whoever decided it was a plausible idea to play a fucking piano at ten-thirty when it was common knowledge that whoever—or _whatever_ —remained in the hotel would be attempting to find slumber. 

     Taking long, angry strides across the carpeted floors Tristan reached the balcony in record time, leaning over the railing precariously as his eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden darkness. The dim candles that had previously been illuminating his fury-fueled journey were now a distant memory, the lobby below him drenched in nothing but moonlight that filtered in through one of the windows and shrouded everything in impenetrable blankets of thick blackness. “This is a goddamn hotel, not a fucking dive bar in New York City,” Tristan growled loudly as he rapidly descended the grand staircase, painted nails digging into the wood and leaving deep scratches in his wake. “This piano is for display only, and I’m sure The Countess would hate to spill blood on her most prized possession.”

       The model’s tirade didn’t seem to have an impact on the man behind the instrument, and truthfully Tristan should have realized who it was as soon as he noticed the figure’s broad shoulders and thick black hair, but in his sleep-deprived state all he saw were flashes of red within his vision as he waited impatiently for his warnings to be heeded. “I swear, you fucking idiot, you have three seconds to get away from that piano before I cut your throat open. Are you even fucking listening to me?”

       If the presumed stranger heard Tristan, he didn’t let it show, and his seemingly intentional ignorance led his fingers to the knife he kept in the back pocket of his jeans, wrapping around the weapon that glinted dangerously as he glanced down at its blade. “Your three seconds is up, asshole, and I hope—“ 

      Tristan was unable to finish his final threat, for it was in that moment that the true identity of this other man in the lobby became visible. His sharp profile was lined with streaks of silver from the planet casting light upon him and his craft, strong hands moving across the ivory keys with strength, precision and grace, eyes shut as a soft humming fell from his lips like a familiar song. As usual, the mere sight of Will Drake caused Tristan to become temporarily and uncharacteristically speechless, his death march halted in his tracks as he allowed himself pause, taking in the sight of his former employer and the way his body swayed gently with the notes emanating from the piano, spilling from his fingers into his instrument for everyone to hear. He was unaware of Tristan’s presence, focused solely on the task at hand, and for that he was silently grateful as he was, in no uncertain terms, _captivated_ by Will. He was truly a master of whatever he set his mind to, whether it be fashion designing, browsing and purchasing art, or architecture, and now Tristan mentally added _music_ to the mental list in his head of all the things the older man was skilled at—there were more things that needed to be on this list as well, Tristan thought with a smirk, but they were hidden deep in the crevices of his dark mind, along with all of the memories he had once shared with this man who had inadvertently become the very literal focal point of his universe. 

      “Seeing as I own the hotel now, I highly doubt Elizabeth would become too angry if anything was to happen to her piano.” 

     It took Tristan a few long moments to realize that Will had spoken, raising his voice slightly in order to be heard over the piano he continued to play, and it was even longer before he realized that he was responding to a half-witted remark that he himself had forgotten he had directed towards him. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t want to be the one to find out,” Tristan replied, shaking himself out of his trance before Will could notice and lazily propping himself up on the corner of the grand instrument, his fingers tracing the smooth edges as he avoided the annoyed glances being thrown his way. “What the hell are you doing out here, man? I figured you’d be downtown or at some fucking art gallery three blocks over.” 

      The music came to an end, the final notes ringing within Tristan’s ears in a haunting fashion. “I could ask you the same question,” Will said with a grin, a beautiful, dangerous grin that made Tristan temporarily lightheaded—and he hated it, hating himself for the way he always seemed so fucking _weak_ around this other man, usually transferring it to bouts of anger or hurtful remarks in a foolish defensive mechanism to hide how he truly felt. Expressing his own emotions had never been Tristan’s strong suit, after all—hell, he sometimes wondered if he even still _had_ emotions. He was cold, calculated, arrogant and reckless, though for some reason that he was yet to understand, his bad-boy demeanor wavered in the presence of Will Drake. It had been that way ever since he had hired the young model years prior, and there was a time when the electrifying physical attraction between the two had once been mutual; however, months of drug abuse, wrong choices, and sleazy one-night stands with whoever he could find, both men and women alike, had put an end to Tristan’s ‘no strings attached’ relationship with his boss.

      Though, even now, it was all but impossible to hide the fact that there were still sparks between the two that threatened to turn into a full blown flame at any given moment.

      After a few heartbeats Tristan remembered that he was yet to answer Will’s, albeit rhetorical, question, and with a dramatic sigh he stretched his arms out behind of his head and lounged across the piano like a cat preparing to pounce. He didn’t do anything without prior motive or reasoning, and his calculated movements seemed to work for Will suddenly seemed focused on looking anywhere but at the sight before him, refusing to acknowledge the habitual and borderline seductive behavior of his companion. “I don’t know why I’m here, to be honest,” Tristan’s tone was quiet, almost thoughtful. “I was planning on sleeping, but some asshole in the lobby had other plans.” Through slitted eyes Tristan threw an irritated glare in Will’s direction, though the older man didn’t notice, absently picking at a loose thread on the seam of his gray suit. “I’m not going to apologize for waking you, Duffy. You’ve seemed to have forgotten that this is my hotel and I am inclined to do whatever I want in it.”

      That sent Tristan’s mind to wild places, and though small talk would’ve been acceptable the young model had never been one for conversation when it wasn’t needed. He knew what he wanted and how to obtain it, and in this moment of dark silence as he continued to watch him and willed him to meet his eyes, he wanted one thing and one thing only. He was so distracted by keeping himself occupied that Will didn’t notice Tristan jump up from the piano until a hand was upon his shoulder, tracing the outline of the muscles in his upper arm with the very tips of his fingers. Will could feel it through the fabric of his shirt, and he could also feel the tension that crackled between him and the younger boy as he knelt down so that he was level with him, a mischievous glimmer in his brown eyes and a dangerous smirk tugging at the corners of his delicate lips. “Anything you want, huh?” His voice trailed off, his other hand seeking out Will’s knee and resting there as he leaned in closer, his breath tickling against his neck and sending shivers racing across his spine. “That’s a loaded statement, Drake. Someone could hear that and take it the wrong way.”

      Will didn’t even bother to conjure up a snide remark; there truthfully was no need. He knew the game Tristan was playing as familiarly as he knew the colorful strokes of his favorite paintings, all too aware of the temptation he was offering him and knowing, in no uncertain terms, he couldn’t get out of this even if he wanted to— _and he didn’t want to_.

      “Goddamn, man, you smell so fucking good,” Tristan whispered, his lips brushing the tender skin just above the other man’s collarbone, taking notice of the way Will flinched and adjusted himself slightly as Tristan inhaled the intoxicating scent of leather, sandalwood, and something oddly floral that lingered in his essence. “That cologne...what is it? Clive Christian? I’ve missed that smell, Drake.”

      “I-I probably need to get going,” Will stammered, though he wanted nothing more than to stay in the model’s sensual clutches, and he found himself moving to stand only to have two hands pushing him back down, Tristan all but straddling him as he forced him back down onto the bench. “You really don’t need to be going anywhere, man,” Tristan chuckled, his fingers now clutching the top buttons of the dress shirt that covered Will’s chest. His own shirt was, per usual, unbuttoned, and he could feel Will’s eyes on him, gaze venturing from his lips down to the last available inch of skin he could see—the area just above his v-line, and Tristan knew he was craving it, hunger apparent in the way he drank him in as if he were a glass of water and Will had been dying of thirst in some faraway desert. “If you want to touch me, you can,” he urged, voice throaty and deep, and he could almost see Will losing his grip on his self-control, his vision glazing over with desire and his breath held perilously within his lungs, daring not to exhale as Tristan continued to inch his way forward. 

       Tristan had never been much into foreplay, though occasionally there was nothing wrong with a bit of teasing. His lips lingered above Will’s but didn’t quite touch, his hand seeking refuge in his hair and tilting his face to the side, his other hand grazing across his lap—and he wasn’t surprised to find that Will was very visibly aroused by Tristan’s straightforwardness, smirking to himself as his fist clenched around as much of it as he could. The muffled moan that escaped Will’s lips was invitation enough for Tristan to quicken his pace, leaving marks upon his neck while he continued to palm him through his pants. “Fuck, Tristan,” Will breathed, his own hand now running along the younger man’s smooth chest as he threw his head back even further, his eyes fluttering shut.

      Things were moving slightly faster than Tristan would have liked, and though he too was already aching to be touched in every way possible he wanted to keep Will waiting for as long as he could. Abruptly he removed his hand, and the tiny whine that left Will’s throat sent an almost heady rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he stared up at him in confusion. “Don’t worry, man, that was only the beginning,” Tristan promised with an evil grin. “You can trust me on that.”

      He kissed him then, hard and rough and fast, fingers curling within his black waves and his teeth sinking into Will’s bottom lip, causing another plethora of obscene moans that resulted in Tristan becoming hot with a fever unlike anything he had ever known. Parting his mouth with his tongue he deepened the kiss, reveling in the taste of him and the feeling of his hands as they roamed across his back, eventually peeling the model’s sheer shirt from his shoulders and urging Tristan to do the same with his own. “Though fucking you on the top of this piano sounds inviting, Drake, I think we need to move this to your office.”

     Will nodded dazedly, coughing awkwardly as he fixed his jacket and smoothed his pants with the back of his hand, not once glancing to ensure Tristan was following before making his way to the elevator. “No one’s going to see you, man, so I don’t think you have to worry about your appearance,” Tristan’s voice was slightly breathless as he chuckled to himself, and Will offered him a sarcastic half-smile that the young model returned with a dazzling one of his own as he retorted, “I have a reputation to uphold nonetheless, though I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about that.”

     An expression of mock insult found its way onto Tristan’s features as he touched his heart. “I have a reputation too, man. Do you know what the magazines would say if they saw me slumming it with the likes of you? A washed up has-been designer who bought a fucking hotel just because he’s going through some type of pathetic mid-life crisis?” 

      Will wasn’t sure if the shorter man meant any of the words he had just uttered; trying to read the true intentions of Tristan Duffy was like attempting to decipher some lost foreign language. He did know, however, that there was a soft flicker of something deep within his gaze, hidden behind layers and layers of icy indifference, that led him to believe otherwise. “Since when have you cared what the magazines thought about you?” His index finger impatiently jammed the button a second time, the notoriously slow elevator seeming to intentionally take its time as it descended towards them. “Not to be harsh, but you certainly didn’t give a damn what anyone thought when news of your drug abuse and drunken tirades before and after shows were being spread throughout the media. You seemed to thrive on the negative publicity, if we’re being honest.”

      The elevator made an atrocious rattling noise as it screeched to a halt, glass and iron parting to allow the two men entrance into its close quarters. Once the doors had safely shut behind them Tristan whirled around so that Will was pinned against the elevator’s back wall, arms on either side of his head while he used his body to keep him in place. Though Will was larger and had height to his advantage, Tristan had immortal strength on his side, and the friction between himself and his partner caused his veins to come alive as if someone had struck a match within his soul— _if he even still had one_ , he reminded himself with a smirk. “I would say I’m clean, Drake, but I am far from clean right now. I’m fucking _dirty_. Aren’t you?” 

      Will’s lips were parted, his breathing coming in shallow gasps as he struggled against all of the whispers of his subconscious that were reminding him, in no uncertain terms, that Tristan’s hips were grinding against his own in what was, inexplicably, the most _erotic_ behavior he had ever experienced. “I’m so dirty, man. I’m fucking _filthy_.” Tristan went on, his voice rough with desire, and the obnoxious beeping of the elevator announcing their arrival to the third floor was the only thing that caused him to release his grip on the older man, making a small noise in the back of his throat as he motioned for Will to step out into the hall.

     Will’s office was at the very end of the furthest corridor, and he spent a few admittedly arduous moments fumbling for the key in his pocket and attempting to open the door while Tristan’s lips left marks on his neck, teeth nipping and biting at the tender skin that he could reach while his hands began to unbutton the other man’s shirt. As soon as the two were safely hidden from whatever guests may be lurking in the midnight shadows Tristan found himself being pulled in for another slow, languorous kiss, Will desperately pulling to rid the model of his belt with unsteady fingers. “Not so fast, Drake,” Tristan breathed with a wicked grin. “You should know by now I’m more into giving than I am receiving.”

      He kissed him again, teeth sinking into Will’s bottom lip with enough force to draw blood, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses until he reached the area just above the fashion designer’s v-line. He was only in his boxers now, and another one of Tristan’s signature teasing smirks found itself onto his features for what seemed like the millionth time that night as he removed them, slow and calculated, his thumb surreptitiously brushing against his erection as he did so. “You’re so hard for me already, man,” Tristan told him, somewhat thoughtfully. “I really drive you crazy, huh?”

      “Can we skip the talking,” Will urged with a groan, voice tinged with desperation. “I swear, I’ve never known you to be this goddamn talkative.”

      Tristan chuckled; a playful, taunting sound. He had never been one to follow orders, especially not from Will, but the need to rebel was overshadowed by an even stronger urge to please him as his hand gripped his thigh, sending chills of anticipation across his body. Tristan’s tongue slowly began to journey across his shaft, making sure to take his time in order to gain the response from Will he was working towards, the older man inhaling sharply as the hand at his side clenched into a fist while the other tangled in the model’s hair. “Fuck,” he moaned, glancing down to meet Tristan’s knowingly self-assured gaze, blue eyes wide and glistening with malice like a sword reflecting the rays of the sun. “You know I don’t like teasing.”

      Tristan pulled away, causing Will to let out a noise that was somewhere between a whine and a growl—it was uncharacteristic for him, and truthfully, Tristan found it incomparably _sexy_ as he licked his lips and moved to stand. “Teasing is my speciality, Drake,” he taunted, “You should know that by now.”

      Will was silent, rendered speechless by the way Tristan’s hand was gripping his throbbing cock and the feeling of his breath against his chest. “I-I don’t have time for this, Duffy,” he managed to choke out, though Tristan barely seemed to notice, intent only on the placement of his left hand and tracing patterns on his stomach with the right. “If you’re going to do anything, get it over with or leave me be. I-I still have plans to finish mapping out before the inspector visits the Cortez tomorrow, and—“ Whatever Will was prepared to say next was lost in the electricity-charged air, speech now turning into a broken groan as Tristan’s mouth wrapped around as much of his length as he could, his head moving back and forth in a way that only he could master. It had been months since Tristan had been in this position but he remembered exactly how to pleasure Will, knowing what to do and where to touch to cause his muscles to become rigid and obscene pleads to fall from his lips like toxic wine. “Fuck, Tristan, that feels so good,” he urged, and though their relationship was laced with cocaine, secrets, and high end modeling deals he always praised him when it was due, causing a strange sensation that felt suspiciously like gratitude to creep into Tristan’s bones as he continued to suck him off, only pausing when it was apparent Will was nearing his breaking point. 

      “That’s right,” Tristan told him calmly—obnoxiously calm, Will thought, his composed demeanor a stark contrast from the sweaty, flustered, stammering version of his own self. “Come for me, Drake. Let me taste you.”

     He didn’t give Will a chance to reply before wrapping around him again, the pace quicker this time and causing him to become breathless, his eyes closing as a familiar trembling took hold of his desire-stricken body. It wasn’t long before he did as told, shuddering as he let out one final heavy sigh, his head resting against the wall while Tristan pulled himself off of his knees, licking his lips in satisfaction as he brought them to meet Will’s in a passionate kiss. 

      “I had forgotten how good you were at that,” Will chuckled dazedly, running a hand through his own hair as he fumbled to locate his boxers from the pile of clothes on the floor. 

        “Oh, don’t think you’re going to get out of this without helping me get off too, Drake,” Tristan smirked, though there was an impatient glimmer of neediness in his stare that caught his companion slightly off guard. “A man has needs, right?” He took his hand before Will had a chance to refuse, leading it to his own pulsing cock and awaiting the fashion designer’s next course of action—and he knew exactly what to do, stepping closer and tightening his grip on Tristan’s erection, pumping his fist back and forth while his lips roamed the model’s chiseled shoulders, Tristan growling into Will’s hair as his breath left his lungs in ragged gasps. The sound of him moaning Will’s name repeatedly was almost enough to send him over the edge a second time, and he continued to leave hot kisses along the younger man’s collarbones while quickening his pace; Tristan had always been a notorious long laster but Will’s talented hand had him nearing release in minutes, biting his lip as he came into his palm. 

      After allowing both he and Tristan to catch their breath Will stepped back and began to regather his belongings, grabbing his glasses from the center table after he was dressed once more and struggling to focus on the illustrations that lay below them. “These plans are really coming along,” he wasn’t certain if Tristan was listening, or even still in the room. Will just felt like small talk was necessary now; it had always been this way after a sexual tryst with Tristan, inexplicably eager to rid his subconscious of the memory that he somehow knew the other boy had already forgotten. “Once the inspector okays it, we can start the renovations.”

      Tristan grabbed a glass from the vanity and retrieved a bottle of wine, pouring it half full and taking a long swig while he pondered  over his response. “I didn’t come here to talk about architecture,” he smirked, and Will already knew what came next; it had been this way for what felt like years, Tristan sneaking out into the darkness as if he had never been there at all. “but I enjoyed tonight, Drake. We’ll have to do it again sometime.” With a wink thrown over his shoulder the door closed silently behind him as Tristan made his departure, and both he and Will would fall asleep that night reminiscing on how the other tasted as the sun exchanged places with the moon in the heavens and the Hotel Cortez began to come alive yet again. 

      


End file.
